


Love Is Just The Way To Live  And Die

by Corby (corbyinoz)



Category: Thunderbirds
Genre: Angst, Brothers, Drama, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-14
Updated: 2016-08-14
Packaged: 2018-08-08 16:16:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7764565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/corbyinoz/pseuds/Corby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At the end of everything, something remains.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love Is Just The Way To Live  And Die

**Author's Note:**

> This is a one-shot. The idea just came to me, and wouldn't let me go.  
> Thanks again to my beta extraordinaire, Solleil Lumiere.

Cow Bay Beach, Australia

Cow Bay Beach. It lent itself to every joke variation Gordon could muster – everything from “Ride ‘em Cow Bay!” to “I bet they lasso sharks here!” – but still; it was a damn pretty little spot. Just a small strip of beach in a tiny bay, surrounded by tropical forest, and Virgil couldn’t help thinking he wished he’d seen it before the eco-tourism fun-park took it over.

And, of course, before he had to visit it and save a bunch if people because something had fractured the underwater section of the clear-view monorail that took visitors on a ride under the sea and then into the forest canopy. Must have been spectacular when it was working; looked less so when the undersea part was full of water and the forest part was hanging on a ninety degree angle.

Gordon in Thunderbird Four had done his usual efficient job of mending the breach in the underwater tunnel while Thunderbird Two supported the structure from above. The collapse in this section had dragged the rest of the monorail line as well, meaning that once Gordon and Thunderbird Four were back on board, Virgil got to shine using the exoskeleton as he wrestled monorail supports upright and stable once more.

Hot work in the north Queensland humidity, and once everyone was safely brought down from the monorail car Virgil caught Gordon glancing longingly at the beach and the brilliant turquoise water beyond. He gave him a nudge, and Gordon sighed his acquiescence. It was two tired, but satisfied men who returned to Thunderbird Two to offload equipment and gather gear ready for departure.

No lives lost; all injured dispatched to Cairns via Australian air ambulance. And a beautiful view as compensation to boot. Yeah, they’d had worse days, and as Virgil began to unhook the exoskeleton he figured a feet-up by the pool on Tracy Island was well-deserved.

The man’s tag proclaimed his name as Taylor, and the way he wasn’t sweating in the Daintree tropical heat sent a frisson of irritation through Virgil, encumbered as he was by the Jaws of Life he was currently divesting from his body.

“Hey – uh, International Rescue? Yeah, there’s a bloke we just found over by the water slide. He looks pretty crook, but all the air ambulances have gone.” The man hooked his thumb towards the main attraction area of the eco-tourist park. “Don’t know if you blokes could take a look, see if he’s okay?”

“Sure.” Virgil freed himself from the exoskeleton at last and lowered it to the ground. “Where did you find him?”

“By the water slide. Pulse rate’s a shocker, but then, I’m not an expert.”

“Whaddya know, Thunderbird Two?” Gordon dropped lightly out of Two’s hold and came to join him. “We rescued everyone they asked us to, and then we added an extra. We’re just that good.”

“Grab the stretcher, Gordon, and bring it over.” Virgil left him and followed Taylor over to where he could see a middle aged man slumped against a rubbish bin, his face a dusky red, his breathing laborious. He knelt down quickly and carefully reached for the man’s wrist.

“Okay, sir, just take it easy. Can you tell me your name?”

Pulse was thready and weak. The man lifted pained eyes to meet his.

“Don’t want to – to be a bother.”

“It’s no bother, sir. Can you tell me your name?”

“Carey. Graham Carey. I was just here on holiday and – I don’t feel too good, tell you the truth.”

Virgil took note of the clammy skin and put a reassuring hand on the man’s shoulder.

“Just take it easy, Graham. Lucky we were still here.” He directed his next comment to both his patient and Taylor, waiting anxiously behind them. “We’ll drop Mr Carey back in Cairns.”

Taylor looked visibly relieved.

“Goodo. Thought he was crook. Thanks mate, you’re a legend.”

This was said just in time for Gordon to hear it as he brought the hover stretcher. His grin told Virgil that he’d be wearing the ‘legend’ tag for a while.

They loaded Mr Carey quickly and efficiently, Gordon doing those little things that revealed the kindness beneath the clown act – checking to see the straps didn’t bite, lifting the end of the stretcher so that the man could be raised enough to see. Carey grabbed at the oxygen mask he offered him, and breathed into it gratefully. Gordon nodded to Virgil and took Mr Carey over to Two to be slowly raised into the sickbay tucked behind the cockpit.

“You get him settled, I’ll start pre-flight,” Virgil said. Gordon gave a distracted nod; this was old territory, and neither needed a reminder of their duties.

Several minutes later, Gordon came through into the cockpit, securing the access hatch behind him.

“His oxygen’s picked up, he’s breathing easier. You might want to take a look at him once we’re up.”

Virgil nodded. They were all trained in advanced first aid, but he’d somehow become the most qualified amongst them. He had a feel for it, his dad had said. Some days he wondered what his life would have been like had he become a doctor, instead of studying engineering, becoming a pilot. Even as the thought crossed his mind again he looked out through the flight-shield of Two at the rain-forest surrounding them and gave an inward smile. 

An air-based paramedic, maybe. But not flying his beloved Two, not being part of this extraordinary team of his brothers? No, he’d never regret choosing a path that led to that.

“So he’s strapped in and we’re good to go.” Gordon swung into his co-pilot’s seat, and Virgil took the cue.

“FAB.” He reached up to switch on the engine just as a noise behind him startled them both.

“Oh, please. Don’t stop on my account.” Mr Carey was standing in the cockpit, upright and seemingly in the best of health. In one hand he held a gun, pointed directly at Gordon. In his other, some sort of device which he held up as if it were a medal, a testament to his cleverness.

“I –“ Gordon glanced at Virgil. “Secured it. I know I secured it.”

“Did you really think something as basic as that lock would stop me? How very naive of you, young Tracy.”

Virgil stood up from his seat, even as the man brought his gun to bear on him.

“What do you want?”

The man chuckled. “I would have thought that obvious. I wanted a Thunderbird, and here you’ve brought me two. If you excuse the pun.” He looked about him proprietorially. “I think I might change the décor, this is all so retro 1960s, but apart from that, it’ll do nicely.”

“For what,” Gordon snapped, getting up to stand beside Virgil. “A flying circus?”

“Oh, murder. Mayhem. Destruction on a global scale. The usual pastime of a man like me. Although in truth there never has been a man like me, as I’m sure you’re aware.” 

“Hood.” The word was ground out between Virgil’s teeth, and the man dipped his head in acknowledgement.

“Now, please, Virgil. I need you to start this machine up. I’ll tell you where to fly.”

“And what makes you think for one minute that I would do any such thing?” 

“Because if you don’t –“ and the gun swung back towards Gordon, ”I will put a bullet through your brother’s knee. The left, I think.”

“Eh.” Gordon shrugged, but Virgil could feel the anger vibrating from him. “I’ve got another one.”

“Bit tame, don’t you think?” Virgil took a step forward, but stopped as the man – The Hood – snarled and raised the gun. “I would have thought a master criminal like you would have threatened to kill us, at least.”

“Don’t give him any ideas!” Gordon hissed.

But The Hood chuckled again, a sound like rocks and glass. “Oh, I can see your mind doesn’t move swiftly, does it, Virgil Tracy. You see, not only do I have two Thunderbirds, I have two Tracys here, and their value to me is quite beyond their value in any other way. I can foresee many adventures for us, just the three of us – oh, and one or two of my employees, of course – as we roam the planet, encouraging governments and corporations to see things my way. You do understand now, don’t you?”

Gordon gave a snort. “You plan on using us as hostages to keep yourself safe? Yeah, good luck with that, pal. The GDF will shoot us down if it came to that. Nothing special about us.”

“Ah, but that’s not quite right, is it? The GDF would struggle to bring this plane down. I’ve seen your defence capabilities myself, the shielding, the anti-missile scatter array. I know how fast this can go, how maneuverable it is. No, the only ones who could bring this plane down are, in fact, Thunderbirds. I’m right, aren’t I? See, your big brother knows this, young Tracy.”

Virgil thought his jaw was going to crack given how hard he was clamping down to keep from saying anything.

“Imagine your brothers having to shoot down half the family in Thunderbird Two. I really don’t think they’d do it, do you?” The Hood used the device and Graham Carey’s face morphed into the features they knew. “No, I think I will keep the two of you front and centre in the cockpit with me. Perhaps a leg wound or two, something to keep you both manageable. You can watch as I show you what can be achieved by a great mind like mine in a plane like this. And that little submersible, well, I am sure I can find ways to utilise that.”

“I won’t let you do that, Hood,” said Virgil at last.

“I’m sure you have some weakly amusing idea of how to thwart me, but really, can we just take that as read and move on?” The Hood waved toward Gordon. “I only need one hostage for verification, after all. If I say you’re both alive, who’s to argue? You’d watch me gun down your brother? Could you really do that?”

“No.” But Virgil was no longer looking at the detestable creature in front of him; he’d turned to face Gordon, and he was asking the biggest question of his life with just his eyes.

Gordon’s eyes widened slightly, and his chest heaved once; then he gave a faint, almost rueful smile, and a tiny shrug, his eyes straying to the tiny, unobtrusive panel behind Virgil’s head. Virgil nodded, once, gravely.

“Alright. You win.” Virgil swung on his heel and raised his hand to the small panel above his head to his right, lifted the cover and began entering the digits he knew so well – his birthday, 1508, and 2, designation of his 'Bird.

At the last second he glanced back at Gordon and met a stronger, screw him smile, a faint nod. 

“I am glad you are seeing reason. There is nothing to be gained by false heroics. I’ve had occasion to mention that to my niece before today. Perhaps this will help her see which side she should be on.”

That did it. The thought of Kayo and this creep was enough to enable him to pull out the small red lever and twist it twice counter clockwise.

At once the access hatch behind them slammed shut, and large screens slid down over the windshields.

“What did you do?” The Hood demanded. “There is no point playing games, Tracy. You –“

A red light began flashing steadily, and a clinically calm voice came through the intercom system. 

‘Auto- destruct sequence begun. Ninety seconds to auto-destruction.’

“What? No! No!” The Hood spun around, disbelieving.

“Overplayed your hand, pal.” Virgil turned back to him, his arms crossed, his head held high. “No way I’m letting you turn my ‘Bird into something evil.”

“You’re killing yourself! Your brother!” snarled The Hood.

Gordon shrugged. “Well. He always threatened to. Guess he’s just making good on it. Hey Virgil, remember when I dyed all your shirts pink?”

‘Eighty seconds to autodestruct.’

“Stop this!”

Virgil opened his hands. “Can’t. It’s done. This is where you end, Hood, and if it’s the last thing Gordon and I do, well, -“

“-I think we can live with that,” Gordon finished for him. “Get it?”

Virgil groaned.

“That’s it? That’s what you’re going out on?”

“Okay, not my best. Jeez. Tough room.”

The toughest.

‘Seventy seconds to autodestruct.’

“No! No, this can’t be happening!” The Hood scrambled back to the hatch and banged on it. “This – there must be an override.”

“Nope,” said Gordon. “Dad always said he would do anything to stop the Thunderbirds getting into the wrong hands. And my dad –“ his voice wavered slightly, but then he found it again – “ he always saw things through.”

Sixty seconds.

In the last minute of his life Virgil was suddenly hyper-aware of everything around him; the feeling of the ridges beneath his boots, the fraying on the edge of Gordon’s sash, the scent of his girl’s cockpit, oil and leather and something sweet and tropical that always came with him from the island.

He’d never see the island again.

He’d never see his family. 

“So…”

Gordon’s voice was strong, but Virgil heard beyond its tone, saw beyond the way his little brother raised his chin, squared his feet. He’d never been more proud of him, and it was that thought that threatened to overwhelm his own calm. But there was a remedy for that.

“Hey,” he said, and Gordon stepped over, wrapped his arms around his big brother as Virgil did the same for him.

He could feel Gordon’s heart hammering in his chest and knew his own was the same, but when Gordon spoke his voice was still light, still sure.

“We had a hell of a ride, didn’t we?”

Virgil chuckled. “That we did, bro. that we did.”

“No regrets. Well, just one.”

“One?”

“Nuh-huh. Tell you on the other side.”

The Hood whaled against the access hatch, shrieking incoherently.

‘Forty seconds to autodestruct.’

“Virgil?”

“Mm?”

“I don’t really believe in the other side stuff.”

Virgil held him tighter. Was it wrong of him to be glad that Gordon, that embodiment of life and laughter and love, was with him now? He knew he was drawing strength from him even as he gave it, a kind of synergy of the damned that nonetheless held comfort.

“Neither do I. I believe in the life we have. And we’ve had good ones, Gordo.”

“The best.”

“What is wrong with you?” The Hood shrieked. He ran towards them, grabbed Gordon’s arm to pull him away. Gordon instinctively dropped with the movement, and Virgil’s fist came flying through to connect in a single satisfying crunch against The Hood’s face. The man dropped, out cold, as Virgil shook his hand out, swearing.

‘Twenty seconds to autodestruct’.

“Should have done that a long time ago.”

They both stopped, looking at each other. Gordon’s eyes were huge.

“Virge?”

He’d been there every time Gordon called for him like that, every time he’d banged a knee or failed a test or just fucked up by being the wild child he was. He would be here again now, at the end, when Gordon needed him most.  
Without a word he reached for him again, and Gordon joined the embrace, gripping his brother’s body, saying something softly to himself, to Virgil, the words he said whenever things got tough.

“It’s okay. It’s gonna be okay.”

Ten seconds.

Nine.

Eight.

“Sure it is.” A huge inward breath, slowly released, and then he said the only thing that mattered to him in this moment.

“I got you.”

One second.

Silence.

Then a long, eerie, high-pitched alarm, nerve-jangling in the red flashing darkness, one that went on and on.

Gordon’s fingers gripping tighter, his shoulders trembling, Virgil trembling right with him, breath gasped in and held.

Then he heard Gordon snort into his shoulder.

“Come on, Dad. Don’t drag it out like this.”

As if in answer, the siren stopped.

They stood there, frozen, unthinking, not breathing, waiting. Not waiting. Suspended.

And then the last thing they ever expected to hear again. 

“Boys, if you are hearing this, well, I’m sorry. I’m afraid I have let you down in the worst way possible.”

“Virgil?’ Gordon whispered shakily.

Virgil shuddered a breath. “Yeah, I hear it too.”

“Oh. Good.”

Jeff Tracy’s voice echoed through the cockpit again.

“I have done many things for the greater good in my life, and I sincerely believe this is another, but it could well be that this is the single most selfish act I will ever commit. Be that as it may, this is my decision.

“I told you boys that there was an auto-destruct on each of the ‘Birds, and that you were to use it if ever it looked as though someone was going to take the plane for evil purposes. These machines are too powerful, too special for that.

“But they are not more special than my sons. Boys, I have made the decision that the world can lose a Thunderbird or two, but that it would be far worse without each one of you in it. I trust that if this plane is stolen by evildoers, you will join your brothers in fighting to retrieve it, or bring it down. But you will do it together, because I could not create the means of destruction for my own children.

“This plane will no longer fly. It has been utterly disabled. Reset requires your favourite apples. I only hope I have done the right thing by doing the only thing I could, as a father.”

For four seconds, five, they clung to each other still, two children listening to their father’s voice, two children looking for the answers that voice had always held for them.

Then Gordon yelled.

“Dad! Dad you – you legend!”

Virgil found himself laughing as he let go of his brother – mostly. One hand still gripped Gordon’s arm.

In the flashing red light he saw that Gordon’s face was streaked with tears, and when he reached up he realised his own was the same. 

“He psyched us all.” Gordon was almost giggling, and if there was a trace of hysteria in there, well, Virgil wasn’t one to judge. He felt something like it bubbling in his own chest.

Gordon suddenly realised his face was wet, and brought his sleeve up to wipe it.

“Wow. Just…” He stopped, for once words beyond him, and Virgil nodded his understanding. Adrenalin was crashing through him, and in its wake euphoria unlike anything he’d ever experienced before.

“So,” Gordon was shaking his head, still reeling from the moment of death that stared hard but passed them by, “favourite apples?”

“I got nothing.” Virgil leant over with his hands on his knees and let out his breath in a long whoosh.

Then Gordon started laughing, really laughing, clear and young and loud.

“I know what it is,” he said at last. “Favourite apples – Granny Smith and Pink Lady. We gotta call Grandma and Lady Penelope.”

“Wow.” Virgil bowed his head, his eyes closed, then chuckled. “Good one, Dad. Okay, Gordon – I think you need to place a couple of calls while I tie up douchebag here.”

“You realise Grandma must have known about the auto-destruct that wasn’t?”

“Yeah.” Virgil clapped his hand on Gordon’s shoulder. “It’s a conspiracy of the elders. I think we’ll give them a pass just this once.”

And as he bent to drag the man who almost killed them both over to the side of his ‘Bird’s cockpit, Virgil found there was something new in his heart. Weren’t many people who knew how they would act at the time of their death, and now they both did – and Virgil figured they could both hold their heads high.

But beyond that he knew, at the end, there was love. And maybe, that meant that nothing really ended, anyway. 

The end

**Author's Note:**

> I've been asked about the title, and realised I didn't credit it. Now,you have to know that I was a punk fan in the late 70s/early 80s - Radio Birdman, the Saints, the Clash, I was one of the Damned, The Jam was my jam. But my mum had a John Denver album, and of all things, as I thought about this story, i found myself humming the chorus from one of his songs. It's titled 'Matthew', and the chorus goes:
> 
> Joy was just the thing that he was raised on  
> Love was just a way to live and die  
> Gold was just a windy Kansas wheat field  
> Blue was just the Kansas summer sky.
> 
> I have no idea why this thing persistently came to me, (perhaps the Kansas reference) but I have long known that you ignore that deeper mind from where the good stuff comes at your peril. And on reflection, I realised that the line about love summed up the story nicely. So thank you, John Denver, if something of you lingers on, from a former punk child who never thought she would ever be quoting you.


End file.
